


Blast Zone

by geekmama



Series: Aftermath [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 10:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12724473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekmama/pseuds/geekmama
Summary: ...Mr. and Mrs. Holmes stared at their elder son, first in disbelief and then in dawning horror.“Alive?” Millicent finally exclaimed. “Eurus is alive? Has been alive for all these years? How is that even possible?” ...---The conversation becomes heated in this follow-up toA Stratagem.





	Blast Zone

**Author's Note:**

> Part 13 of 15 of [Aftermath](https://archiveofourown.org/series/848343), with thanks to [arianedevere](https://arianedevere.dreamwidth.org/64404.html) for her invaluable transcript of The Final Problem.

Mr. and Mrs. Holmes stared at their elder son, first in disbelief and then in dawning horror. 

“ _Alive?_ ” Millicent finally exclaimed. “Eurus is _alive?_ Has been alive for all these years? How is that even possible?” 

Mycroft’s wince at his mother’s tone was not quite imperceptible. “What Uncle Rudy began ... I thought it best to continue.” 

His mother was not pleased with this, to say the least. “I’m not asking _how_ you did it, idiot boy! I’m asking _how could you?_ ” 

“I was… trying to be kind.” 

_“Kind?_ ” Millicent gave a gasp, almost as though she was in physical pain, then repeated, tearfully, “ _Kind?_ We were told that our daughter was _dead!_ ” 

Sherlock was staring at the table in front of him. Molly squeezed his hand hard, and he returned it, flashing her a sidelong glance that she met with one intended to convey _Courage!_  

Mycroft replied, “It seemed… better _that_ than tell you what she had become.” 

His mother only stared at him in wordless disbelief. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, simply. 

But now Vernet spoke, less unrestrained than his wife, but in obvious distress for all that. “Whatever she became, whatever she is now, Mycroft, she remains our daughter.” 

“And my sister,” Mycroft said, looking up at his father -- and his mother. Trying to let them see that he, too, had been hurt by the situation. 

Molly’s eyes stung with tears, but this was not the time to let them fall. 

Millicent’s gaze was stony. “You should have done better.” 

But now Sherlock spoke, saying quietly, “He did his best.” 

His mother turned to him and snapped, “Then he’s very limited.” 

Sherlock said no more, but met Mycroft’s gaze across the table. 

Molly squeezed Sherlock’s hand again, and bit her lip. 

Vernet asked, “Where is Eurus?” 

“Back in Sherrinford,” Mycroft replied. “Secure, this time.” He looked at his father intently: a plea for understanding. “People have died. And without doubt she will kill again if she has the opportunity. There’s no possibility she’ll ever be able to leave that place.” 

His father took this in, but then asked firmly, “When can we see her?” 

Mycroft looked almost despairing. “There’s no point.” 

Millicent exclaimed, in a voice both furious and full of contempt, “How _dare_ you say that?” 

“She won’t talk,” Mycroft said, impatiently. Desperately. “After Musgrave -- that’s where it all ended, with Dr. Watson nearly drowning, as Victor did -- it was just as we all suspected! Sherlock can show you the place. But now… she won’t communicate in any way. She has passed beyond our view. Words cannot reach her.” 

Millicent glared at Mycroft, then turned to Sherlock, and demanded -- pleaded -- “Well? Sherlock, you were always the grown-up, in spite of your brother’s high opinion of himself. Tell us: what do we do now?” 

Sherlock exchanged another look with Mycroft. Their mother could hardly have chosen more painful words to put Mycroft in his place. For the most part they were untrue, and they all knew it. But Sherlock ignored that side issue -- the unreasoned words of a mother who had once again been wrenched from her comfortable world by her difficult and all too often extremely problematic offspring. He said, slowly, “I have been thinking about this, and I believe I may have an idea.” 

Molly felt another thrill course through her and she sat up a little straighter. To her delight, Sherlock gave her hand another squeeze and glanced at her, a tiny smile curving his lips. She vowed to snog him senseless at the first opportunity, but in the meantime sat back and watched as he addressed them all, but in particular his devastated parents. 

“Music,” he said. “When I was at Sherrinford, in those first few minutes, Eurus had me play the violin for her. Even those brief passages seemed to speak to her in ways that mere words could not.” 

Molly’s brief elation faded. She saw where this was leading, and the hope she’d felt turned to a chill of fear. But Sherlock kept hold of her hand and went on. 

“Her experiments were aimed at me, for the most part. I remember now, her attachment to me when we were children, and her jealousy of Victor. Not that those are excuses for what she has done. But I believe if I were to go back to Sherrinford, and initiate communication through music--” 

“That might work!” 

It was Alicia Smallwood who had spoken so vehemently, and everyone suddenly looked at her. 

A flush touched her pale cheeks, but she said, evenly, “I play, too, you see -- the piano. And music, and playing the instrument particularly, seems to be the only thing that gives me complete solace in times of great stress.” 

Molly recalled that Alicia Smallwood had been involved in the Magnussen affair somehow, and that she had lost her husband to suicide when a scandal had broken in one of that monstrous man’s publications. 

And Sherlock nodded, doubtless understanding Alicia’s point even more completely than did Molly. “Exactly so,” he said. “If I were able to communicate with Eurus on that almost visceral level, she might eventually be persuaded to open herself to other relationships.” 

Millicent, now forgetting her anger, turned to Mycroft. “Can that be arranged? Do you think there’s a chance?” 

Mycroft, eyeing his little brother with that odd look of respect again, said, “I… I hope so. It does seem to me that if anything has a chance of success it would be that sort of approach.” 

Sherlock said, specifically to Molly and his mother, “I want to try, though we will, of course, be sure to take suitable precautions.” 

And, back on more familiar ground, Mycroft added, confidently, “A new security protocol is already in place, and will be adjusted as the situation progresses.” 

Millicent’s lips trembled, now, and finally her tears began to fall, and a small sob escaped her. 

Molly rose swiftly, Sherlock releasing her hand as though already knowing what she intended. She went round the table and said to Millicent, “Let’s go out to the back garden for a few minutes, shall we?” 

And to Molly’s relief, Millicent merely nodded and managed to rise. Molly led her from the room, picking up the box of tissues as they passed through the kitchen.

 

*

 

“I can’t believe it,” were Millicent’s first words when she had finally calmed enough to speak intelligibly. 

She and Molly were seated side by side on the white cast iron bench that was situated under an arbor of Blush Noisette roses in the corner of the little back garden, a private sanctuary that had been one of Molly’s first additions to her home when she had moved in a few years before. It was a good place for tears, whether of grief or of happiness, as Molly knew from experience. 

Millicent took another tissue from the box and blew her nose again. Then she looked at Molly. “She was the most beautiful little girl. It… it was heartbreaking when her… her condition became… untenable. “ 

Molly only nodded. She said, slowly, “I have nothing but admiration for the recovery you and your husband made in the face of such a situation.” 

Millicent gave a sad little chuckle. “What else could we do? It… it did eventually become easier. But that Rudy, and then Mycroft could do such a thing. Deceiving us all these years, and with such an unspeakably cruel lie!” 

“I know Mycroft thought it for the best -- and particularly with Sherlock’s situation in mind.” 

“Yes, there was that to consider,” Millicent said, sadly. “My poor boy. And… I have to admit, Mycroft has always had Sherlock’s best interests at heart. He… well, we let Mycroft take on a great deal in that regard. When Sherlock went off to university. At too young an age, of course -- but what were we to do? He was bored nearly senseless at school. Extreme intelligence is not conducive to happiness, Molly. At least… sometimes.” 

Molly smiled a little. “I know. But… I think it is not unrealistic to hope that there may be better times ahead.” 

Millicent gave her a narrow look. “Then you and he… that was not a merely a stratagem to soften the blow? You are… _together_?” 

Molly’s smile grew far less tentative. “We are! I… well, I’m sure you don’t want too many details.” 

“Of course I do!” Millicent exclaimed, and smiled too, for the first time. 

Molly couldn’t help chuckling at that, but she said, “I’m fairly certain Sherlock would prefer I didn’t share just everything with you, but… I love him so much. And I believe he’s loved me for a long time, too, but… it was complicated. But now… it’s just possible… well, we’ll have to see but… you may yet be a grandparent.” 

And Millicent laughed aloud in joy at that, and then hugged Molly rather fiercely. “Oh, that wretched boy, to keep you waiting for so long! Keeping _all_ of us waiting. But if such a wonderful thing does indeed come to pass, I promise Vernet and I will be here to help as much as we can.” 

Molly could not help being both amused and alarmed as she thought of Sherlock’s probable reaction to this prospect. As for herself, however, there were no qualms at all on that score – Rosie Watson, darling that she was, had taught her godmother well. Therefore, as the hug eased, Molly clasped Millicent’s hand, looked into her kind eyes, and said fondly, “Believe me, I’m counting on it!”

 

~.~


End file.
